


Because I Found You

by anniebibananie



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Tropey Cliche Holiday Goodness, no magic, pen pal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 17:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniebibananie/pseuds/anniebibananie
Summary: Unexpectedly home for the holidays, Quentin is convinced by Julia to join Christmas Cupid—a holiday pen pal service. The only problem is he’s not sure whether his pen pal is Alice Quinn, the ex-girlfriend he’d never quite gotten closure with, or the enigmatic Eliot Waugh, an old almost…something. He just hopes he can manage to figure it out before Christmas.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 26
Kudos: 98
Collections: Magicians Hallmark Holiday Extravaganza





	Because I Found You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [[ART] "Because I Found You"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21680125) by Anonymous. 

> Hi! This is my first The Magicians fic, but I'm excited to finally get to send this out into the world for the Magicains Hallmark Holiday Extravaganza! I've been secretly working on this for months, so it's nice to finally put it out into the world!! I hope you all enjoy <3

Quentin used to love Christmas—unashamedly, wholeheartedly loved Christmas. It was him and his dad hanging the lights all around the house. Hot chocolate by the fireplace and pie in the oven. It was idyllic and perfect. Then  _ nothing  _ was perfect anymore. Divorce, death, break-ups and a too expensive therapist and…

He used to love it before he didn’t anymore, and it was a reminder for everything he’d lost or never had. A melancholy sort of longing that was easier pushed away then thought about. 

* * *

Quentin used to love  _ love _ , too. Hell, he’d designed a whole app with the purpose of finding it. More aptly, helping  _ other  _ people find it. He was pretty sure he’d given up on the possibility of it for himself at the same time as all that death and tragedy and shit he tried to pack away and forget about. Except for his therapist, who kept reminding him that was  _ not  _ a healthy coping mechanism, no matter how hard he tried at it. 

_ The Perfect One  _ was about connection. True, proper connection. Or at least it was meant to be. Before everyone and their mother sunk their claws into what it  _ could  _ be instead of what it was  _ meant  _ to be. 

And Quentin was tired. He was always so unbearably tired. Which is the only reason he’s contemplating it at all. Going home, that is. 

“I have so much work,” Quentin said as he pushed a file from one side of his big, wooden desk to the other. His phone was on speaker, and he leaned his chin against his closed fist while the other pushed the file back and forth, back and forth. A hypnotic sort of rhythm that was only making him more tired by the minute. “I just don’t know if I can manage it.” 

“Huh,” Julia said over the phone, seemingly unconvinced. She was just too good at seeing through his bullshit ( _ that’s why you left, _ his traitorous head chimed in, _ because there were too many people who  _ ** _knew _ ** _ you in a way that was unhideable _ ). “Seems like the same thing you said for Thanksgiving. I think it was your mother’s birthday before that? Kady’s art show… Easter…” 

“Fine,” Quentin replied with a huff. “I get it. I suck.” 

“You don’t suck which is why your best friends want to see you.” The phone sounded a little further away now as Julia yelled. “Isn’t that right, Kady?” 

“Quentin don’t be an asshole!” she yelled back. 

Julia huffed out a laugh. Quentin couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips. 

“She makes good points,” Julia said. Her voice was playful. “How are you going to argue that?” 

Quentin’s eyes scanned the room, falling back to the email that had sat open all day as he went through his other business. 

_ Quentin,  _

_ It’s been fun spending time together, but after talking about Christmas with you it became clear we’re on two different wavelengths about where this is all going. You’re a cool dude, but I’m not here for anything serious.  _

_ Good luck,  _

_ Poppy _

“Poppy broke up with me,” Quentin said. He winced, removing his hand from the useless file and bringing it to the bridge of his nose instead. That had been one of those things he planned on not talking about. 

“Huh.” 

Quentin perked up a little. “You don’t sound surprised.” 

“The one time we met her she peace signed us instead of like… shaking hands or hugging,” Kady said, her voice suddenly close to the phone. “Didn’t seem all that serious.” 

“Dude, will you just come home?” Julia asked. “We can do all our old favorite things. You don’t even have to stay with your mom if you don’t want to.” 

There was still nothing convincing him this wasn’t a bad idea. He considered himself easily suggestible, though, especially when it came to Julia and Kady. 

He sighed, knowing that whatever was to come next would probably be a shit storm of massive proportions. “Fine. Let’s hope this isn’t a shit storm of massive proportions.” Sue him, he’d never been all that good at covering up his thoughts, either. 

“That’s the holiday spirit!” Kady called over the phone. 

* * *

His parents had sold the house right around the divorce, so there wasn’t much of a home to go back to in the first place. Dad had shuffled into a sad looking apartment near the mall and mom had relocated to a condo by the water she barely stayed in, too busy out exploring her newfound independence, and Quentin had been… sort of torn between it all, really. 

It was stupid to stop by the old house, and he wasn’t sure what drew him there in the first place. He guess he just wanted, for a moment, to pretend he was coming  _ home.  _ That he could go hide up in that bedroom that might still have his and Julia’s names carved into the moulding when they’d made a pact to be friends forever. 

Someone painted over it, probably. Someone scraped it off and never thought about it again. 

* * *

“Quentin Coldwater,” Kady welcomed as she swung the door open, a towel thrown over her shoulder from whatever she’d been doing in the kitchen. 

“Hi,” he said, unable to fight the smile. Why would he  _ want  _ to fight it? 

She stepped through the doorway and hugged him right around the middle, and a second later Julia was bounding down the hallway and hopping right into the hug, too.  _ Home _ , he thought again. He did have it, it was just… a little irregular, a little misshapen at times, not the norm. He had Kady and Julia, no matter what he tried to forget about this strange hometown that carried weight he didn’t always feel ready to hold. 

“Stop standing out in the hallway like a freak,” Julia ordered, tugging him over the threshold. 

Quentin threw his bag in their extra bedroom slash office slash occasional Etsy shop staging area ( _ The people love weird mugs, and I am happy to supply them, _ Kady had once told him in the early days as the three of them sat in the living room, drinking wine and helping to pack up her orders—before his app blew up and he left and it was still the three of them always). He stopped to use the bathroom, paused in the hall to look at the picture of them hanging, and then promptly fell into the couch. 

“You should do Christmas Cupid with us,” Julia said as she sat in the chair across from him, scrunching one of her legs up and wrapping her arms around it. 

“There is no us,” Kady continued as she plopped down on the couch next to Quentin. She crossed her arms and rested her legs on the coffee table. “I am not doing Christmas Cupid. I don’t even celebrate Christmas for one. Also  _ you  _ said just last night you were not going to do Christmas Cupid.” 

Julia shrugged, eyes going a little distant as she lost herself in thought apparently. “I don’t know,” she replied. “Is it stupid? To think that maybe you’ll find someone to love?” 

“Of course not,” Kady answered. Her voice, to someone who didn’t know her, would have sounded sharp. That was what Quentin had always loved about her, though, the idea that she knew what she believed and she  _ knew  _ what her friends deserved and damn if she wouldn’t make sure they got them, herself be damned. 

They were all a pack of stupid martyrs, really. That was maybe why they got along so well, but in reality, Quentin thought that just had more to do with the fact that their friendship was that close-knit. Some people you were just willing to fall on a sword for. 

“Julia has been having a sort of thing,” Kady told him, leaning her head against the back cushion and meeting his gaze. Her lips twitched with amusement, and it was clear she was trying to bring them back to something lighter, happier. 

“Kady,” Julia said as she pushed back up to her feet, on her way to the kitchen but not before pausing by the couch to level them both with an intense gaze, “is a liar. Also forgetful, since it seems  _ she  _ might also have a sort of thing.” 

“You two didn’t tell me anything,” Quentin said. He did  _ not  _ say,  _ is this what happens when I leave? Do my friends forget about me?  _ Because he had learned around therapist #2 that it was one of those intrusive thoughts, the ones he needed to ignore and rationalize to combat. 

“We don’t tell each  _ other  _ anything,” Kady said. For a moment, Quentin could have sworn there was a flash of fear over her features (or maybe guilt?) but then it was gone. She hit her shoulder with Quentin’s. “We all suck at relationships. I think we all have safety precautions so we don’t end up jabbering on about someone who’ll disappear in a week.” 

“Mine already disappeared,” he reminded with a laugh as he thought about that stupid email from Poppy. He’d known it wasn’t going to work for a long time, so why had he stayed? 

“Pretty ironic,” Julia said as she reappeared with a cup of coffee to take up her spot in the chair, this time sitting with her legs over one of the arms. 

“What is?” Quentin asked. He met Kady’s gaze who shrugged. 

“Someone who barely believes in love being the creator of one of the most popular dating apps on the market.” 

Quentin sunk further into the couch, groaning. “I don’t even want to think about it.” 

“Work that bad?” Kady asked. 

“Let’s just say we might not be one of the most popular if we don’t start thinking up something new.” That thought weighed him down, much more than he liked to think about. 

He still remembered Jane right before he’d left for the holidays. She’d given him a hug, a tight one that was honestly sort of out of character for her, and promised him it would all work out.  _ Enjoy your vacation. Let the creativity flow. We’ll think of something.  _

“Don’t worry,” he said now, shooting a smile to his two best friends. It really was nice to be back in their presence. “I’ll think of something.” 

“Maybe… Christmas Cupid…” Julia suggested with an innocent shrug, eyes wide. 

Quentin huffed out a laugh. “You know what? It certainly can’t hurt.” 

* * *

“It can’t hurt,” Quentin mumbled under his breath, though there was no one to hear him as he sat at the desk in the guest room so he wasn’t sure why he bothered being quiet. “What a load of shit.” 

The paper laid in front of him white and blank and daunting. Much more daunting than the possibility at the beginning of a coding project, which always seemed like the opportunity to  _ create  _ something. 

Here, now, it just looked like a jar he was expected to poor his heart into. He wasn’t sure what was normal to say to a person you weren’t sure if you’ve ever met before that Dean Fogg, Mayor of their town and the head of Christmas Cupid for years  _ Dean Fogg _ , matched you with. 

_ Hi,  _

_ Honestly I’m not sure how to start this all out? I basically got manhandled into this by my best friend, and now I keep thinking of reasons I should back out. I don’t want to be the kind of person who backs out from fear, though, and I assume that's probably all the feeling is _ — _ fear.  _

_ I guess I haven’t decided of what, yet. Pick a neurosis, really. Fear of the chance of love? Fear of actually being honest with someone? Fear of being home and with family?  _

_ Wow, what a fun first letter I’m sure. Feel free to burn this and back out. I won’t be offended.  _

_ Merry Christmas, truly.  _

_ Best,  _

_ Chatwin _

* * *

Quentin stepped into the cafe slash bookstore very appropriately titled  _ Books and Bevs _ with a jingle of the door. He loosened his scarf as he purveyed the scene. It was a cute shop, obviously new since he didn’t remember it from his last time in town. There were books lining half of the store, a shelf had board and card games to take at your own leisure, and near the front was the coffee. 

That was definitely what Quentin needed right about now. He turned and… Oh  _ no.  _

“Quentin?” 

Alice stood behind the counter looking just as pretty as the last time he had seen her. Her blonde hair was tucked behind her ears, showing her clean soft skin and her expressive eyes on full display (well, behind her glasses, but visible all the same). 

In high school she had been a cotton candy dream. She wore circle skirts and floral tops or peter pan collars, looking like she’d rather be somewhere else (he would learn later of course that it was really that she never felt  _ comfortable  _ anywhere, and he had understood that). Her lips were sometimes coated in lip gloss, and the sweet smell and sticky look of it drove him wild. 

Then there was The Fight, an epic blow-up, and he was leaving for the city, and she was staying here, and they had ended. They came apart as quickly as they had come together. 

“Hi. Alice,” he said. He needed something to do with his hands desperately. He tried stuffing them in his pockets, but that felt awkward too so he quickly brought them back to his sides. “I didn’t know… This is cool. This place.” He circled his finger around and  _ oh my god how could he get more awkward.  _

“It’s mine,” she said. She shuffled from foot to foot, and then her hands moved to push her hair behind her ears again. “I didn’t know you were back in town.” 

“I– Yeah,” he answered with a quick nod. “Julia and Kady convinced me. The holidays.” 

Alice nodded, a quick jut of the head. “Yeah. Can I get you something to drink?” 

“Oh, um…” His eyes scanned the menu, though he wasn’t sure why he was delaying this. 

The thing about Alice, despite all the awkwardness and unresolved problems between them, was that there was always a tug to her. He saw something in her, though he wasn’t always able to describe it, that reminded him so desperately of himself. Even when she’d hurt him, and he had probably hurt her in return, they couldn’t cut the invisible string strung between their sternums. 

“Just a large coffee, I think. With room for cream—”

“And sugar?” she finished for him, holding the cup in her hand. There was a scrunch of her nose as she concentrated on writing on the side of the cup, though it was clear she was going to be the one to complete the order. She looked up, finally, and he nodded the affirmative. “How’s your mom?” 

“Guess we’ll see,” he replied. She didn’t look up from pouring the coffee, but he could see her eyebrows scrunch together. “I’m supposed to meet her here.” 

“Well then this is on the house,” Alice said as she handed it over with a soft smile. 

Quentin laughed, feeling at ease for a moment. “How’re your parents?” he asked. 

Alice’s face closed up. “Oh. Dad died about a year back, yeah…”

“Shit, Alice. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” He was grateful for the heat of the coffee cup in his hands to help ground him. 

“It’s okay,” she replied. “Thanks. If anything, actually, my mom and I have gotten closer. She’s still…” She trailed off, clearly not sure how to finish that. “You’ve met her.” 

“I have,” Quentin replied with a knowing chuckle. 

“She wanted me to do Christmas Cupid so badly so I wouldn’t end up  _ an old, lonely spinster like you’re clearly destined to be at this rate, Alice _ ,” she recreated, her voice taking on a haughty tone with the impersonation of her mother. 

“I’m doing it,” Quentin said. He hadn’t received a letter back yet, but he wondered what it would be like if him and Alice were paired up. Maybe she would see through his words in a single second. 

“Oh?” she asked. “First letters should be out soon according to Mayor Fogg. He told me just this morning when he stopped in for his chai latte.” 

“Huh. I would have thought he was a black coffee sort of guy.” 

Alice shook her head. “No, that's just what he wants you to think.” She motioned her head to the side, and he turned to see his mother talking on the phone outside the shop. “Good luck.” 

“Thanks, Alice.” For a moment, he didn’t want to leave. “For the coffee and the chat.” 

She gave a little wave, and he tripped a little over his feet, but he figured it could have been worse. 

* * *

“Did you know that I ended up having to clean out the entirety of your father’s storage unit? Without you?” she asked. “Even in death he still finds ways to make my life hell,” she continued with a huff. 

“I offered to help pay for someone to do it, mom,” he answered, chugging down more of his coffee as they walked the streets. 

His mother had said she wanted to see the ice sculptures, but her eyes seemed to barely be scanning them as they walked down the main street. She seemed snippy, not entirely present but also  _ too  _ present, and Quentin figured the caffeine probably was making his anxiety worse. 

“That’s not the point,” she said. She paused in front of one of the sculptures. 

It was a tall version of Father Christmas, and frankly Quentin found it sort of terrifying. His mother tilted her head and eyed it, eyes narrowing it as she gave it an up-and-down. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. Maybe that was why he found it difficult to be with his mom. Everything always felt like an apology. He was apologizing for who he was and who he wasn’t and all the baggage he brought. “I’m here now, though.” 

“Yes, you are,” she replied, and try as he might Quentin wasn’t sure whether she was saying it sharp or kind. “We’ll have to do a Christmas dinner. I’ll pull out grandma’s potato recipe.” 

He held back his sigh. It was an attempt, and he knew for her this probably was the best olive branch she could offer. Christmas spirit and all that. “Yeah, mom. That sounds great.” 

* * *

“I picked your letter up for you,” Julia said, tossing it onto Quentin’s chest as he laid on the couch. 

He hadn’t previously considered himself all that excited about the Christmas Cupid pen pal situation, but he had clearly already grown more invested than he intended. Julia was sinking into her favorite chair herself, opening her envelope delicately, as Quentin ripped off the corner and slid the letter out. 

_ Dear Chatwin,  _

_ I managed not to burn your letter and everything, what a feat. My best friend coerced me into doing this as well. Though I wonder if yours told you “not to be a flacid penis” as an insult to get you motivated. I have a feeling I know the answer already.  _

_ Pretty sure whatever you dump in these letters can’t be any worse than my own problems, so I’m rooting for you. Most days it’s like the worlds already trying to cuckold us, though, so I feel like maybe you should give yourself a break. You’re clearly trying.  _

_ Christmas wasn’t a big thing for me growing up, my parents didn’t give a shit. I guess I thought maybe this year I could try to take it back. I look so good in scarves it would be a shame for me to not reach the holiday season’s full potential.  _

_ Unlike you, I will be highly offended if you burn this letter. You sound cute. Come on, bambi, don’t back out on me now.  _

_ XO,  _

_ Swayze _

Quentin was caught by surprise with laughter. He snorted, a soft sound, and then the laugh was taking over and he couldn’t  _ stop.  _

“That good, huh?” Julia asked. 

Quentin nodded, feeling giddy. Earlier he’d been so down, but now he couldn’t fully remember that feeling. “Great, actually.” 

Julia nodded solemnly. “Looks like you owe your best friend a thank you, then. Without her you’d never have even—” Her words were cut off with a pillow Quentin threw, and then both of them were laughing. 

* * *

“We’re going,” Julia said. She was standing in the doorway, her long coat on and a scarf around her neck, and she stomped her foot like a child throwing a tantrum. 

“I agree with Quentin. This seems lame,” Kady said in an even voice. 

“Guys, I need you to think about this,” Julia continued. “ _ Really  _ think about this. I’m being the most positive one here. Please, Quentin ‘I’m ready for a quest’ Coldwater and Kady ‘Anything is possible if you’ve got enough nerve’ Orloff-Diaz are letting  _ me  _ be the optimistic, voice of reason? Let me be soft goth Julia again. She is so much easier.” 

Kady snorted. “Soft goth? Is that what we’re calling it?” 

Julia shrugged. “Let’s go ice skating. We can get hot chocolate, maybe Quentin will casually bump skates—” 

“He could use a chance to bump skates,” Kady muttered. 

“—with his pen pal, and then we fuck off and get drunk somewhere. Maybe cry over some shared trauma if we’re feeling nice and open.” 

Quentin shared a look with Kady, and he could already see she was won over with the idea. Her smile was on display, a smile Quentin sometimes thought was only reserved for Julia with the way it was rare and sparkling like a gem. 

He didn’t know what his hang up even was _ .  _ He wasn’t great at ice skating, but he’d liked it when they did it in high school well enough. But then again, he would have loved anything they did in high school as long as it got him out of his house and they were all together. 

For a brief moment, all he could think about was his failing app and the big, empty city that seemed to carve a space inside of him. It had been his dream to get away and be someone new. That was what he had always said, and you weren’t allowed to  _ change  _ that sort of thing, but why did suddenly—

“I’m not that easy, Kady,” Quentin joked. “I’ll only share my daddy issues if you share yours first.” 

His spiral of thought stopped like a freight train. Kady chuckled out a laugh, and Julia must have sensed something because she was holding out her hand to him. He took it, and he remembered home was not all bad. How could it be sandwiched between the two of them? 

* * *

The ice rink was crowded with groups of people and singles alike circling the ice. There were vendors with booths on the ice itself, and some surrounding the carpeted area around it, and overall it  _ was  _ sort of magical. There were twinkling lights and dim lighting, and from somewhere came the wafting smell of pine. 

“Go get your skates, Q,” Julia said as her and Kady slipped into their own they’d brought along. 

Quentin did as he was told, having to stop to awkwardly talk to a few people he hadn’t seen in years. It was strange the way life could slip by and the details from before became blurrier, some slipping away entirely. It wasn’t that everything from home was  _ bad,  _ it was just different. 

He had created a life for himself in the city though it wasn’t perfect. He had followed a dream and become a person a little better at holding onto everything, accepting who he really was, and when he came home, it sometimes felt like the people here were trying to peel him back layer by layer to get back to the insecure, unsure teenage boy he’d been. 

Quentin couldn’t go back to that. He wouldn’t. 

With his ice skates laced and his jacket zipped to the base of his chin, Quentin made his way onto the ice. His feet were wobbly, ankles dipping inward, and he darted a hand out to the wall to keep him steady. Where had Kady and Julia gone? He took a deep breath and pushed off the wall. He made it a few seconds before he was crashing into another body. 

He was about to hit the ice, the skates slipping behind him, when a pair of hands were grasping onto his upper arms. 

“Woah there, cowboy.” 

Quentin looked up to see a strong jaw, a long face, and curly dark hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. Eliot Waugh. 

“Oh, Eliot. Hi— uh…” Quentin’s hands had cupped Eliot’s elbows in response, and he was too aware of the two of them touching. Quentin adjusted back to full height, gaining his balance. “Thanks.” 

“Thank  _ you,  _ Q. I love an excuse to be a knight in shining armor.” His smile was as charming as the last time Quentin had seen him, which was… 

High school, probably? Definitely, actually. Quentin could remember the exact last time he had a significant moment with Eliot because it was… 

Okay, fine, Quentin would let himself think about it just this once. It was the summer after junior year of high school, right after Alice and him had broken up the first time because Alice was gone for some sort of summer program and had thought it was “best for them to have space” and Quentin had agreed, really. They’d been dating for years, and Quentin was happy to have a summer to figure himself out. 

“Come on,” Julia had said before passing him her flask. Kady was in the back, iphone hooked up to the aux cord as she flipped through something. “We’ll party. It’ll be great.” 

Quentin hadn’t been able to argue with that as he took his swig of vodka, wincing and coughing after he handed it through the seats to Kady. Her eyes stayed glued to the screen as she grabbed it with her free hand, and then she was toasting it to them and playing  _ their  _ song to pump them up before going in. 

The party started the way most of their high school parties stated, which was to say mostly a mix of drunken high schoolers grinding or playing drinking games with the music blaring too loud to think or speak. Sometimes, depending on the day, Quentin liked the rush of that anonymity—the ability to flip it all off and be no one in a crowd. 

There were times it made him spiral, though, as if all at once he realized his insignificance in this big, full world and there was no way to turn away from it. It could be comforting to know that his role was insignificant, in a strange way, but other times something near debilitating. It sort of felt the bad kind of insignificant tonight

Not at first, though. At first he danced with Julia and Kady as they had a drink. Kady disappeared to smoke on the roof, and Julia was talking to some boy in the kitchen, and there Quentin was—hit with a sudden feeling of unbearable loneliness in a crowd. 

He got himself another drink and pushed to the back porch, where he felt for the first time in the last few minutes as if he could take a deep breath. There was a couple in the far corner making out far too vigorously and a lone person sitting on the steps. Quentin chose the steps. 

“Quentin Coldwater,” the mysterious form spoke, and now that Quentin turned to see him full on it was obvious. 

Eliot Waugh was holding a cigarette delicately between the fingers of his right hand, bringing it up to his lips now while wearing a curious sort of smile. Him and Quentin weren’t friends, not really. They knew of each other, had taken a few classes together and maybe shared some mutual friends, but they were two moons circling neighboring planets. They weren’t ever found circling each other unless by accident. 

“Eliot, hi,” he said. 

“What’s a boy like you doing in a place like this?” Eliot asked coyly, leaning back on the palm of his open hand. 

Eliot offered Quentin the cigarette, and though he’d only smoked once or twice with Kady, he thought it might be kind of nice to have something to do with his hands. He took it, and the act of it centered him some. He took a puff and only coughed a little, clearing his throat before passing it back. 

“What does a boy like me mean?” Quentin asked. 

Eliot shrugged. “Thought maybe you’d spend your summer nights having documentary marathons with your perfect girlfriend. Where’s miss Alice Q tonight?” 

Quentin rolled his eyes and grabbed the cigarette right out of Eliot’s hand. Eliot shrugged and grabbed himself a fresh one from his pack. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Quentin said, and his voice wasn’t bitter. Not really. It was hard to describe the feeling, like he’d been expecting this. Like him and Alice fit in so many ways and  _ still  _ it somehow wasn’t right. Sometimes he thought maybe it was because  _ he  _ wasn’t right, other times like they were simply two corner puzzle pieces designed to be in the same picture but never connect. 

“Trouble in paradise, then?” Eliot asked, but his voice wasn’t mean. It was pretty open and understanding, actually. 

Quentin looked at him then because he hadn’t given him the proper glance before. The thing about Eliot was that he seemed to be  _ so much.  _ He was handsome in a devastating way, quick to the point of being hard to keep up with at times, sharp but soft in all the right places. He was smarter than he let anyone know and funny to a fault. 

He had never seemed like someone tangible to Quentin. He was more stars and sky than person. If Quentin were just to reach out and run his hands over his flesh, it would scatter around him, and he would be as alone as he had felt in that party. 

Maybe that was why they’d never gotten closer. Quentin wasn’t sure what Eliot would want to do with him. Eliot probably wasn’t sure who Quentin was. 

“I don’t know if I know what paradise looks like,” Quentin replied honestly, the loosening of the alcohol and the danger of the cigarette making him feel bold. He had always been good at being bold when the right moment called for it. “What happy looks like.” 

Eliot didn’t say anything, and Quentin didn’t bother looking to see what his face would reveal in that moment. His eyes stayed staring at the cigarette as it burned, bringing it to his lips and taking in a big puff into his lungs, feeling the spread of it, before blowing back and up. Then he scrunched it under his foot and laid on the deck. 

After a beat Eliot joined him. “You know, I think you think everyone else has it a lot more figured out than you do, Q.” 

“Eliot…” Quentin began, not caring about the vulnerability because how could it get any worse than  _ I don’t know what happy looks like  _ with someone who was close to a relative stranger. “You’re practically perfect. What do you not have figured out?” 

Eliot scoffed. “Don’t start with that Coldwater. You’re smoking cigarettes with me. That's not exactly good role model behavior.” 

Quentin turned his head on the deck, catching his eyes. He hadn’t realized Eliot had been watching him already, and it was strange to be this close to him, but also not strange. Familiar and new all at once. 

“You’re funny and you’re smart and you’re hot. The world will bend for you.” 

Eliot rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his lips. “And I’m gay in a small town. Perfectly easy upward mobility. You’re drunk and loose, Q.” 

“Drunk words speak sober thoughts,” he muttered. The stars were bright tonight, and Quentin trailed his eyes over the few constellations he could see. The ones his father used to point out to him when they’d lay in the grass of the backyard together. That was when they still had a backyard, of course, and his mother would call them back in because it was getting too cold and they might get sick. “If it’s bad here, then are you planning on leaving?” 

“Maybe,” Eliot replied instantly. Then for a few minutes there was silence between them, the only sounds the dull bass of the music from inside and the couple going back into the party. It was only them now on this porch. “I think it might be easier somewhere else. I don’t know if people leave this town, though.” 

“I’m going to,” Quentin said with certainty. He brought the last of his drink to his lips and downed it, letting the crumpled cup fall to his side. 

“Oh, Coldwater, and what are you running from?” 

“Could be running to, you don’t know.” 

Eliot hummed. 

Quentin rolled to his side, watching Eliot who turned to look at him again. There was something otherworldly about him in this light. The moon and stars gave him a soft glow, his skin looking unbelievably soft. For a second, Quentin could only think about what it would feel like underneath his fingertips. 

It was that, fueled by a million other things and thoughts and feelings he didn’t know how to name, that pulled him closer to Eliot. Eliot was looking at him curiously, like he couldn’t decide what was going to happen next, and maybe Quentin wanted to prove him wrong. Maybe… he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to kiss Eliot Waugh. 

So he did. 

He came in a little too hot, and for a second their teeth clashed but then it was smoothed over. Eliot brought his hands to Quentin’s hair and Quentin was  _ kissing  _ him and he was kissing  _ back  _ and goddamnit it was… it was the stars above them and the feeling of the first puff of a new cigarette—dangerous, something that could kill you but make you feel  _ so so  _ good. 

“Huh,” Eliot said when they pulled back. He ran a hand over Quentin’s cheek, letting his fingers smooth over the edge of Quentin’s lips, before letting them drop. 

“Huh what?” Quentin asked back in a whisper, like anything louder would break this moment. 

“You’re a bit of a mystery, Quentin Coldwater.” Eliot smiled. “A fun one, I think.” 

There was a whole summer in front of them, and Quentin suddenly knew he wanted more of this. Him and Alice had taken so long to get to a place that him and Eliot had just… slipped into. He loved Alice, Alice taught him so much about himself and the world but… she was gone. She wasn’t here, and she had been the one to say they needed space. 

“We should hang out,” Quentin said. 

Eliot scoffed. 

“What?” Quentin’s brows scrunched together. 

“What are we going to do? Go to the movies? Hold hands on Main Street? You’re drunk, Quentin.” 

“Not that drunk.” His voice was closing up, growing tighter. “I like you.” 

“You shared a cigarette and talked to me for twenty minutes. Come on, don’t be dumb. In three months your pretty girlfriend will come back and you’ll forget all about me. It was lovely, but don’t… don’t overthink this all.” 

“I—” The loop was there again, spiraling closed “Okay,” he said, soft and sad and solemn.  _ You don’t know me  _ sat on the tip of his tongue, but then Julia was swinging open the porch door and calling for him. “I’m going to go.” 

Quentin got up and didn’t look back. 

Which brought him to here, still in his dumb ice skates being saved on the ice by Eliot Waugh who had only gotten more attractive. With his hair longer and a small lining of stubble, his once somewhat pretentious style softening to something cozier but still refined. He looked more comfortable in his skin, like he felt the need to try less than he used to. 

“Since when are you back in town?” Eliot asked across from him. “You and the Scooby Gang enjoying your holiday festivities?” 

“Something like that,” Quentin answered. He still felt something off-kilter, unsure how to speak. “Needed a little break from the city.” 

“Ah, nothing can beat a break for this shithole of a town,” Eliot replied, throwing his hands to the side with a fond smile. 

“You never got out?” Quentin laughed a little, smiling at him kindly. It was hard not to smile at Eliot. 

Eliot shook his head, tutting his tongue a few times. “What would the town do without me? Their diversity percentage would go down to less than 1% without me and Margo.” 

“Oh, so Margo is still here, too?” 

Eliot nodded. “Probably flirting with some sad, unsuspecting fool right about now.” His eyes scanned the space, and suddenly he was chuckling. “Well, would you look at that.” 

Quentin turned carefully in his skates to see Margo close to Julia, the two of them talking about something as they skated around the rink. Kady had disappeared somewhere. 

“Julia is a lot of things, but definitely not some unsuspecting fool.” 

“Bet you’re right about that.” Eliot wrapped his arms tighter around his chest, his sweater arms long enough to cover the heel of his hands. “You’ve only gotten cuter, Q, by the way. And successful, I hear. Preying on people’s idealism toward love.” 

“Preying is pretty harsh,” Quentin replied. “Don’t tell me  _ you  _ haven’t ever downloaded the Perfect One.” 

“Downloaded? Yes. Proceeded to use it to find a Mr. Right for the Night? Also yes. True love?” Eliot’s smile softened, and he gave a small shake of his head. “I’m afraid not.” 

“The whole app is a load of shit right now, anyways.” Quentin ran a hand through his hair. “I’m working on fixing it as we speak.” 

“Oh, so you’re not doing Christmas Cupid, then?” Eliot asked. 

“Well, I am—I … are you?” 

Eliot smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

“That’s why people ask questions, Eliot. With the purpose of having them answered.” 

“Ugh, you’re just as cute as I remembered. Maybe you should take a—” His words cut off, and his eyes looked over Quentin’s shoulder to see something that stopped him. “Alice,” Eliot said with a small wave. 

“Hi guys.” Alice stopped her skating near the two of them, looking between them as if she wasn’t sure what she had skated into. “Why aren’t you skating?” 

“Our beloved Quentin here had a bit of a near-spill,” Eliot told her, “but don’t worry. I’ve saved him so you can have the privilege of skating the rink together. I have a bitch of a best friend to see about something. Have fun kids. Use protection.” 

Before Quentin could say anything else, Eliot was gliding away like he was made to be on the ice. Just as intangible as the last time he had seen him. 

“You want to…” Alice began, motioning with her hand to the rink before bringing it back to her glasses to push up her nose. 

“Sure,” Quentin said with a bit of a tread. “I’m just worried I might be something of a flight risk.” 

Alice giggled her girly giggle, the light sugary thing that used to keep him smiling for hours. “I promise to help all I can.” She held out her arm, and Quentin took it to help the first few strides. As he gained balance, he was able to let go. 

“I’m sort of surprised to see you here,” Quentin began honestly. 

Alice’s brows scrunched together. “Why?” 

Quentin shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

“We used to do a lot of fun stuff around Christmas, don’t you remember? My parents were absolute maniacs, and I just wanted to decorate cookies and go tree shopping. You always let me tag along with you and your dad.” 

“I guess I forgot about all that,” Quentin said. 

The truth was, he didn’t know how to think about Christmas the way he used to. With every good Christmas memory he held onto, there was his dad like a shining beacon right in the middle of it. A reminder of what he lost and what he missed. There had been undoubtedly good Christmases, but now it felt like his dad had created some of that magic himself and Quentin was a poor replacement to fill the day the same way. 

“You’ve seemed to forget a lot of the good things about this town,” Alice told him. “Sledding on the hill by the Post Office? Hot chocolates that Julia’s mom would make for us? You used to love Christmas, Quentin. Maybe being home can help you remember.” 

“Maybe,” Quentin agreed, still feeling sort of melancholy and lost in his thoughts. “Do you still talk to them? Julia and Kady?” 

Alice smiled at him. “There are about four people in this town, of course I talk to them. Julia’s in my book club. Kady… Kady helps me out with stuff at the shop, sometimes. She’s really business savvy, you know? We try to sell her mugs in store.” 

“I do know,” Quentin answered. “I’m glad I ran into you, Alice. It’s nice to have someone else who remembers everything with a bit more of a positive outlook.” 

“I’m not sure it’s more positive. I think it’s truthful. Nothing’s perfect, but that doesn’t mean it was all bad, either.” 

“You’re right.” Quentin finally felt like he was getting the hang of his skates, smoothly gliding forward. His eyes caught on Kady and Julia up ahead, laughing as they pushed each other back and forth. “I’m going to go catch up with my friends, but I’ll see you later?” 

Alice nodded. “You know where to find me.” 

* * *

_ Swayze,  _

_ I don’t know how a letter can make me sound cute, but thank you. I guess if we’re keeping on the honesty train…  _

_ Christmas was something pretty magical for me growing up. There were things that made it less so as I got older, the way a lot of things dull with age, but my dad always tried to make it good. I find things hard, I guess? I’ve been to a lot of therapy, and I’ve tried a lot of ways just searching for happy, but I could always count on Christmas to be perfect. Which was why it was so hard when it stopped being that way.  _

_ So, maybe I need to join you in this mission. Reclaim the holiday. Let it be what I want it to be. Pro tip: if you’re trying to take it back, I suggest starting with a Christmas tree. Nothing quite like it to get you in the spirit. I should probably start there, too.  _

_ Haven’t scared you off yet? _

_ Chatwin _

_ p.s. Swayze? Really?  _

_ Chatwin,  _

_ What? You’re not even going to say my letters make me sound cute? Quite rude.  _

_ My parents were busy so no grand holidays for me, but I was made for the artistry of Christmas. The aesthetic. The grandeur. A tree does sound like the perfect place to start, but I’ll only do it if you do, too. We have to be in solidarity.  _

_ You know, it’s taken me a long time to learn this (and I’m probably still learning it, too) but there’s more than one way to be happy. Just because something falls apart, something that used to make you happy, doesn’t mean nothing will make you feel that way again even though it might be different. _

_ Ew. Things must be getting dire if I’m offering you advice. Most everyone would probably tell you not to trust advice coming from me, but I like to think maybe you would.  _

_ Swayze _

_ p.s. YES Swayze. Coming from Chatwin… fighting words buddy.  _

* * *

Quentin wasn’t sure why he found himself embarrassed by the prospect of asking either Julia or Kady to accompany him to the tree farm, but for some reason it seemed like maybe he needed to do this by himself. 

Despite being only a week or so away from Christmas, the tree farm was still bustling with activity. Quentin popped his hood up and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The wind was whistling past, but still the sun was out despite the chill and snow on the ground. It had been a while since he’d helped pick out a tree, and he forgot what he used to look for. 

It was a  _ tree,  _ he reminded himself. What did it actually matter? Pick out a pretty one and be done with it. His eyes roamed the yard as he walked down the aisles trying to spot one that would fit in the house. Maybe he should have asked permission from Julia and Kady first, but they already had a small tree that lived on their kitchen table next to Kady’s menorah. A large one shouldn't be too much of a problem. 

Quentin had stopped in front of a medium-sized one—more full than it was tall honestly—when he heard familiar voices rounding the corner of the row. 

“ _ I’m  _ just saying that maybe you’re thinking too grandiose and not enough aesthetically.” 

“Grandiose is aesthetic, Margo.” 

“Not when it’s  _ tacky,  _ El.” 

The two were thick in conversation, their words firing back and forth like a professional tennis match. They were both wearing fitted peacoat jackets though Margo’s was in a bright pink and Eliot’s was black. To Quentin, they looked nearly too high fashion to exist in the realm of this town. They looked nearly too  _ regal  _ for it. 

“Quentin.” 

He shook out of his thoughts to wave at the two of them who’d just spotted him. They made their way closer. 

“Eliot had mentioned you’d wound up back in this shithole, but I hadn’t believed it,” Margo said through what Quentin thought was meant to be a smile but in typical Margo fashion edged on a smirk. She reached forward and affectionately tapped his upper arm. “Big city success returns.” 

“Big city success is generous.” He laughed. “Shithole? Why haven’t you left then?” 

“I  _ love  _ this shithole, unfortunately,” Margo said with a sigh and a laugh. 

“It has its charm. Especially this time of the year.” Quentin looked around and thought it was probably true, though it had been harder to feel that lately. Just because his dad wasn’t here to help enlighten him to it didn’t mean it wasn’t still there.

_ There’s more than one way to be happy,  _ Swayze had said to him in his last letter. Quentin had spent so long thinking that if he just lived a certain way, if he  _ was  _ a certain way, he would finally find a way to be happy. It would all snap into place and he’d never have to worry about that dark feeling creeping again, but he had learned that progress was a lot more complicated than that. Hell,  _ life  _ was. 

“A little late for a Christmas tree,” Eliot prompted. 

His hair was pushed behind his ears, and Quentin was granted a full look at his face. There was a light line of stubble on his jaw, and his lips were pink in the bright morning light. Unfairly good looking as always. 

Maybe there was a different world where it worked out between the two of them, but Quentin couldn’t let himself trail down that line of thinking for too long. He’d get sucked into the what if’s, and if there was anything that was non-conducive to his own happiness it was almost’s and maybe’s. 

“Said the man here for his own Christmas tree, I presume,” Quentin replied. “You guys didn’t already decorate your places?” 

“Oh,  _ I  _ was ready a month ago but Eliot has been indecisive about the whole thing.” Margo smiled at him, reaching over to his arm and holding it in to her body to bring herself closer. “But now he’s ready. Isn’t that right, El?” 

“Sure is,” Eliot said dramatically as he patted her forearm. “This tree looks about right.” He swung his arm forward, right at the tree Quentin had already been looking at. 

“Oh.” He ran a hand sloppily through his hair, knocking his hood back down. “That was—”

Eliot burst into an abrupt laugh. “Don’t worry, Coldwater. I’m fucking with you. It’s all yours. I’m looking for something… sleeker, I think.” 

“We’re getting you a tree, Eliot, not a foreign sports car.” 

Eliot shrugged, unbothered by Margo’s words. He shot Quentin a smile then, something small that felt oddly private. Like an inside joke, and Quentin couldn’t help but smile back. 

“We’re going to keep going, but we’ll see you around, Q?” 

Quentin nodded. “Yeah, see you.” 

* * *

Quentin hadn’t really regretted coming alone to the tree farm until he was by the side of his rental car, trying to get the tree strapped to the top. He’d been huffing and grunting for what must have been at least fifteen minutes at this point. He was worried he’d started to appear like some sort of red-faced caveman, probably scaring the passerby children. 

He was debating between calling one of his friends or going back inside the tree farm building to ask for help, when Alice Quinn appeared on the other side of the car with a wide smile. She’d never looked more like an angel.

“You need help, Quentin?” 

“An angel appears,” he replied with a joyful laugh. Honestly, the sun was sparkling off of her blonde hair in a way that made it feel oddly true. 

“Why didn’t you bring reinforcements?” Alice asked as she pulled the tree from her angle further onto the roof. Finally in position, she reached out a hand for the bungee cords Quentin had brought with him to latch the tree in place. 

“I don’t know,” Quentin said honestly. He paused, the tree finally secure, and took a sound breath. “What are you doing? You feel like decorating a tree?” 

Her eyes glittered. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

* * *

The drive home was far from awkward (to Quentin’s mild surprise), and they were luckily able to get the tree easily enough inside with the two of them sharing the weight. They’d just about gotten the tree to stand up straight by the time Julia walked into the scene—halting mid-step.

“Hi,” Julia said. “That’s a tree.” 

Quentin stepped to the side. “Ta da!” 

“Huh.” Julia stepped further into the room. “And you brought your ex-girlfriend home. What’s going on? Am I being punked?” 

“Ex-girlfriend.” Alice’s voice was dry. “That's cold, Julia.” 

“You’re right,” Julia continued with a smile on her face. “My book club nemesis. Into  _ my home?  _ How dare you, Quentin.” 

“I am not your nemesis!” Alice continued with a laugh. “I had the same discussion question as you one time, and—”

“Just by  _ coincidence  _ Ms. Quinn, are—” Julia cut herself off with a laugh as she came to Quentin’s side and gave him a hug. “Okay, the joke has gone on too long. You got a tree. We’re all very proud. Alice you going to stay to help decorate it? Like old times?” 

Alice caught Quentin’s eye, and he nodded. “Sure,” she said with a renewed reassurance. “You both wouldn’t survive without my tactical brilliance.” 

Quentin scoffed. “Mostly I remember you tangling lights, but I’m glad you have confidence about the whole thing.” 

Julia handed Quentin the phone to get some music going over the speaker while she went to get some hot chocolate started on the stove. Alice was already digging through boxes of old ornaments, picking out the ones she thought would look best. 

The next hour was  _ fun.  _ The music was playing around them joyfully as they strung lights and garlands. At some point the display had gone from  _ modest  _ to  _ six strings of lights might be playing it a bit safe, don’t we think?  _ And while it was getting rather ridiculous it was nice to just… be stupid and silly. To let the hardships of being alive and human and adult fade away as they decorated the tree. 

They ate cookies and debated ornament placements. The time slipped by, and by the time they were done they had found themselves laying on the ground beneath the tree to stare up through the branches without much discussing it at all. 

Quentin sighed, feeling bloated and filled to the brim. “My dad would have loved all of this.” 

“He really would,” Julia said. “Your mom probably would have been going on and on about the tree falling over on us or something, but she’d have given us eggnog if we asked.” 

“She makes good eggnog,” Alice said happily. “Not as good as the apple cider your dad would buy from the farm a town over.” 

“Oh my god,” Quentin said in a rush of breath. “I’d totally forgotten about that.” 

“Forgot? How could you forget?” Alice shifted her shoulders. “Lucky for you I now  _ work  _ with that farm so I get to sell their cider during the winter months. You’ll have to stop in and have some.” 

There was something about that thought that made Quentin feel on the edge of sad, on the edge of nostalgic but almost for something he’d never been a part of. There was so much life happening here he’d just… abandoned. His friends and family continuing on while he was a city away doing little more than working on his app and making fleeting connections with people who never lasted.

For so long he’d associated home with only bad things—his poor mental health, his dad’s death, the strain of his upbringing—but it wasn’t all of that. It couldn’t just hold the bad things because he was currently literally sitting between two of the best things this town had ever given him. 

He missed his dad, and he missed the relative ease of his youth before he realized how shit everything was, but running away wouldn’t fix that. Maybe you could get further away from your problems, but it didn’t make the problems go away. Especially not when they mostly resided in your own head. 

A hand interlaced with his own, and he realized perhaps he’d gone too silent. The sort of silence his friends had learned, because they were  _ good  _ friends, meant something that needed a little support. 

When he turned, Julia was giving him a stretch of a smile and eyes pooling with love.  _ Are you okay? _ it asked. He nodded and squeezed the hand right back. 

“It’s nice being here,” he said as he trailed his eyes back up through the twinkling branches. “I didn’t realize I’d actually missed it.” 

“Missed us more like,” Julia corrected. 

And Quentin was pretty sure she was right about that.

The door sprung open and a rush of cold wind funneled over the living room. “What the hell are you two—Alice?”

As Quentin pushed himself further up, he noticed Alice had sprung up the quickest. She was pushing hair behind her ears, then pushing her glasses further up her nose, and the whole time her eyes were on Kady. 

“Hi,” she said with a little wave. “We were decorating the tree.” 

Kady nodded. She looked confused, eyes darting between all the spots in the room before landing back on the three of them sitting near the tree. “It looks nice,” she said. 

“I should…” Alice pointed to the door before hopping up to her feet, pausing to wipe away the dust from her skirt and grab her coat from where it had been thrown over the side of the couch. “The cafe needs to be closed because— uh, they’re leaving early and… thank you, Quentin,” she said, turning over her shoulder and giving him a smile. “Nice to remember Christmas.” 

“See you, Alice,” he replied with a wave. 

She darted toward the door, only pausing for a few more seconds halfway there like she was about to turn around, say something else, but then she slipped out into the darkening sky and the door shut behind her. 

“I’m going to start dinner,” Kady said with a nod. 

Quentin looked to Julia whose brow was scrunched. “That was weird.” 

“That was  _ very  _ weird,” Julia agreed. “Maybe they still have some beef, but I didn’t realize anything had happened.”

“Beef? Did you really just say beef?” Quentin asked. “I know that was not the point, but I can’t—”

“Fuck off!” she exclaimed, the laughter eclipsing the words. Her face was washed in the colored lights of the tree, blue and red and beautiful. “It does look great.” 

Quentin nodded. “Yeah, it really does.” 

* * *

“Fuck,” Quentin muttered beneath his breath. He bent down to the cold concrete to lace his boot back up. 

It had been an unproductive day. First it started with a horrible conversation with Jane about how to improve the app, of which he had very little answers about and had sent him into an anxiety spiral it feel near impossible to crawl out of. 

He’d thought Christmas shopping would take his mind off of it, but so far all he’d realized was that he didn’t know what to get for his mom or Julia. Kady had been easy, and he’d even found a little something for Alice he thought would be the perfect sort of olive branch that they’d been working toward since he arrived. 

His hands were growing useless with the chill of the wind slapping against them, but when he looked up he found the perfect reprieve. 

_ The Antique Corner,  _ the sign read. Quentin realized the store must be new because the building had previously been inhabited by a bike shop. Well, since nothing else had worked he might as well give it a shot. 

The bell jangled above head as he entered through the front door, and he was instantly hit with the smell of the place. It was thick and near musty, but not in a bad way. It smelled like classic literature and history—old pages, stained wood, brandy swirling in a crystal glass. 

“Be there in a minute!” The voice was muffled by the music that was coursing through the place seemingly coming from an actual record player. 

Quentin walked through the pieces, trying to think what his mother would actually like. Maybe a piece of jewelry? A nice vase? She liked beautiful things that had stayed beautiful over time, the patience that must take. 

His eyes caught on a display of leather bound journals. They were intricately done, winding leather parts through the spine and with crisp, parchment pages. It seemed exactly like the sort of thing Julia might like mostly because Quentin sort of wanted one for himself. 

“How much is—” Quentin’s words paused in his throat when he looked up to see Eliot appear from the back, a towel in his hands wiping away what might be oil though Quentin couldn’t tell for sure. “Eliot?” 

“Quentin.” He tilted his head, a smile already on display. “What a surprise. What brings you into my shop today? Some last minute Christmas shopping?” 

“Something like that,” he said though it was  _ exactly  _ like that. The weight of the bound journal in his hands felt heavy. He lifted it up. “This is beautiful.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Thank you?” 

Eliot nodded. “I make them, actually. I had leftover leather from a chair I was repairing, so I thought I’d repurpose.” 

Quentin looked around him in a new light. “So you… fix all these pieces?” 

“Something like that,” he joked. He stepped forward and ran a hand over a dresser, intricate designs over the edges with a bright walnut wood. “Some things need more help than others. It’s my job to keep the antiques in the best condition they can be, sometimes repairing them a little, while keeping them as authentic as possible.” 

“Wow,” Quentin said, genuine awe laced in his voice. The pieces around him were striking, and it felt like they were walking in history. Everything in here had a life from before, stories woven into their infrastructure. Eliot helped bring them out, keep them alive, make sure they had the opportunity to have more. “That’s incredible.” 

Eliot shrugged. “It’s just what I do. Actually sort of seems like something  _ you  _ would be good at. Putting together broken things back to a whole.” 

Quentin’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

“Isn’t that what your app is all about? Fixing pieces into something durable that’ll last?” Eliot asked. 

“I hadn’t thought about it like that.” Quentin brought up a hand to run through his hair. “It makes sense, though I don’t think it’s fixing anything. It’s just putting it together in a way it wants to be put together.” 

Eliot adjusted the vest he was wearing today, fixing one of the buttons, before leaning back against the counter and watching Quentin. “Wise words. You want the journal?” 

Clearing his throat, Quentin nodded and made his way up to the counter. “Yeah, and I’m trying to find something suitable for my mom.” 

“She was here last week looking at a china set that she never ended up getting,” Eliot told him. “I’m pretty sure the only reason though was that she didn’t want to spend the money on it so it should be a safe bet.” 

“You’re not just telling me that because it’s expensive, are you?” Quentin asked. 

“Oh, definitely,” Eliot replied. “You’re the hot shot app developer. You can afford it.” 

“Then I guess I’ll take it. How can I argue with that?” 

Eliot pushed hair behind his ears, bringing his smiling face more on display. “Smart  _ and  _ cute. How can anyone possibly resist?”

Quentin opened his mouth, a quick reply on his tongue, before it died there. The phrase was ridiculous because he  _ had _ . Once upon a time Quentin had offered Eliot  _ something  _ or the possibility to figure  _ out  _ something and… he had turned away. He had thought he knew Quentin better than Quentin knew himself which was infuriating. 

Still Eliot stood there with that mysterious edge of a smile and bright eyes that Quentin enjoyed diving into. 

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Quentin replied, but the words weren’t harsh or judging. 

Eliot tapped his hands against the counter. “We should get drunk.” 

“You’re working.” 

“You’re right.” Eliot walked around the counter to the other side, tapping at the cash register. “You should pay me for the goods you’re going to buy,  _ lovely choices Mr. Coldwater truly an impeccable eye,  _ then I flip that open sign over and we pop the cap off my whisky in the back. How does it sound?” 

He could say no. It would be easy, a single syllable, and Quentin would go on his merry way. He wouldn’t offer someone the opportunity to hurt him twice, but… that had been a long time ago. Hadn’t he been realizing how hurtful holding onto the past too tightly could be? 

And the truth was he  _ wanted  _ to be near Eliot. There’d always been something about his energy even when they were in high school that was magnetic, but they were older now. Wiser and more in tune with themselves. Above all else, Quentin couldn’t help but wonder what hanging out with him now would be like. 

“Why not,” Quentin said. Eliot beamed. “Ring me up.” 

* * *

“How many years since you’ve been back?” Eliot asked as he handed Quentin the heavy pour of whisky. 

Whisky certainly wouldn’t have been Quentin’s first pick, but he assumed it also probably wasn’t Eliot’s. Eliot who used to craft drinks even back in high school that would have made a bartender ashamed. 

They sat next to each other on a bench in the back near the windows, both turned to watch the light snowfall that had only started a few minutes earlier. They toasted their glasses, the rims clinking, and took a sip. It bit only a little, the rest of it going smoothly down. 

“I think around three?” he asked. He winced, thinking that maybe that was a little shy of the truth. He’d managed for so long to be able to get people to come to him, to avoid this town. In some ways it felt like a ghost of a memory to be back, but Quentin thought most likely he was the only ghost in this place. He’d changed in a way the town hadn’t.

“What finally got you back?” Eliot asked. 

“Peer pressure, mostly.” He took another sip. The two sat in silence. “I guess I figured I couldn’t avoid it forever.”

“The past doesn’t just disappear,” Eliot agreed. 

“What about you?” Quentin turned away from the window now, twisting his body fully toward him as he brought his bent knee onto the bench. “Why didn’t you leave? Really?” 

“I think…” Eliot’s eyes roamed the scene behind the shop, and Quentin’s eyes roamed Eliot. He wish he had better self control but whatever. It was fine. Eliot was sort of stunning to look at. “I realized that maybe it wasn’t the town so much that I wanted to leave. I thought leaving would make who I was okay, but I realized I’ve always been okay. I just needed to accept it.” 

“I’d say more than okay,” Quentin told him.

Eliot smiled, met his gaze. “That’s because you’re too  _ good,  _ Quentin Coldwater. Always have been.” He sipped and then released a long breath. “Well, honesty hour is starting a bit earlier than normal, but I haven’t scared you off quite yet.” 

“Much harder than that. Do you know what goes on in this head?” Quentin laughed. “You’re good, too.” 

“Oh, Quentin. You could make a man believe in love.” Eliot shook his head, looked away, and took another sip of his alcohol. “Has being home changed anything? Or will you be staying away forever?” 

“Well, if my app keeps failing me I might be stuck again.” 

“Trouble on the work front?” 

Quentin nodded. “Unfortunately so. If only I could make  _ everyone  _ believe in love.” 

“You used to.” Eliot reached forward and tapped at Quentin’s skull. “You just have to remember. You’ve forgotten a lot, Q, but it’s still all there.”

“So  _ wise,  _ Eliot Waugh.” 

Eliot shrugged. “It comes with owning an antique shop. You become wise through osmosis. You want more?” 

Quentin shuffled his gaze down to see an empty glass. He hadn’t realized he’d finished. There was something about being with Eliot that was both easy and nerve-wracking. Their conversation flowed, and Eliot was so unashamedly himself it was refreshing, but Quentin was nervous to live up. He  _ wanted  _ Eliot to like him, and he still had that seed of doubt planted in his chest. 

_ He turned you away. He turned you down.  _

“I appreciate the offer, but I should probably get going. I still have a few more things to pick up.”

Eliot cleared his throat. “Yeah, of course. I’ll give you a call when your mom’s gift is ready for pickup.” 

“Cool. Perfect. Uh… yeah, great.” Quentin winced. “I’ll see you around?” 

“It’s a small town.” Eliot clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll see you before too long.” 

* * *

_ Dear Chatwin,  _

_ I don’t know about you, but sometimes there are things from the past that hang on me forever. I can’t stop thinking about them, no matter how much I know I should give them up. You can’t change the past, but goddamnit if sometimes it’s all I wish I could do.  _

_ I think you’ve either got to make moves or let it go, though. I’m still deciding about which one would be best for me. What do you think, Chatwin? Leave it in the past or conquer it? Maybe it’s stupid, but I feel like I can trust you.  _

_ Xo,  _

_ Swayze _

* * *

_ Swayze,  _

_ It’s hard to know without  _ ** _knowing _ ** _ exactly what you’re talking about. I’ve spent a lot of time letting things fester in the past, though, and while some things need to stay firmly planted there… I have to say there are some things that maybe have to be conquered.  _

_ If you’re brave (which I’m trying very, very hard to be), it can sometimes be worth it. Take a gulp of egg nog and get brave, Swayze.  _

_ Maybe I can do the same.  _

_ Love, _

_ Chatwin _

* * *

_ Dear Chatwin,  _

_ I think you’re wiser than you give yourself credit for. You ever think about writing a self-help book?  _

_ And as cheesy and ridiculous as this may sound… you make me want to be brave.  _

_ (Now pretend I didn’t say that. It’s horrifying, I know).  _

_ Yours,  _

_ Swayze _

* * *

Quentin ran his hand over the now familiar scrawl of the letter, but mostly over those last two words.  _ Yours, Swayze. Yours.  _ Yours. Quentin couldn’t stop the repetition through his head, the thought of it spinning around itself like a toy top. 

It had been a long time since Quentin had properly been  _ anyone’s.  _ He’d dated since leaving and since high school, but they seemed to fizzle out. It was as if every relationship Quentin started somehow got stuck with a label saying  _ let’s not take this serious.  _ For a while it had seemed refreshing—Alice had broken him a little, though she certainly hadn’t tried, and to be fair he’d probably broken her a little right back—but it only held its glamor for so long before he wanted  _ more.  _

When he’d started the app, it had been with a mixture of bitterness and lost love. On the wings of Alice and the blow up of their relationship, of feeling rejected and repressed in his small town and under his mother’s thumb (and missing what he used to have with his father), he’d aimed to something that made it all  _ simpler.  _ At first it had worked—people liked the simplicity. But the truth wasn’t simple, and he’d started thinking maybe that was what had ruined his app from the beginning. 

“Julia,” he called. 

Her head popped up from behind the kitchen counter. There was a fleck of flour on her cheek, and Quentin found it adorable. “Yeah?”

“Does my app… lack substance?” he asked. 

Julia’s lips pursed. “I wouldn’t— I mean—” She hummed, face twisted in concentration. “I’d say it took a concept you used to be able to wax poetically about for hours and funneled it into a ten second decision.” 

“Lacking substance,” he repeated. 

She nodded, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, it lacks substance. The concept was cool at first! It was like, let’s hone in on the natural chemistry two people have, but then that got lost in the shuffle of people using it for random hookups. It’s just… I know it’s not what you want it to be.” 

“It’s not,” Quentin confirmed. He reached out for his laptop; the idea sparked something. Not  _ everything,  _ but the idea of a beginning, a possibility. “Thanks, Julia.” He paused, looked up to see her watching him still. “For the honesty, and for making me come home.” 

“Thank Kady, too,” she replied before disappearing back behind the counter. “Also, you can thank me by going to the Christmas Cupid mixer tonight. No negotiations.” 

Well, Quentin sort of walked right into that one. 

* * *

They entered the bar with trepidation, mostly because it was run by Kady’s ex and all three of them still felt at least a little awkward over the situation despite the years. Quentin thought his was most warranted, mostly because he was sure Penny had never once liked him. 

“I want alcohol,” Kady announced as they stood surveying the scene. Quentin sort of understood the instant desire. 

The place looked ridiculous. Heaps and heaps of garland, mistletoe, and various other holiday decorations were covering the place. It looked like a Christmas store had exploded inside the bar, which was probably only made more offensive to Kady. She pointed toward one sad menorah cut-out pasted to the wall. 

“I swear if they put up that sad, probably-printed-out-earlier-today, menorah up on the wall so they could label this a  _ holiday  _ function instead of a Christmas one I will actually murder someone.”

“I can’t see Penny actually doing… any of this,” Julia said, eyes large as saucers as she scanned the place. 

As if speaking the devil’s name, Penny appeared in front of them with a towel thrown over his shoulder and an expression that spoke to his own disgust. “I swear I didn’t do any of this. This was all Fogg.” 

“The mayor forcefully decorated your bar?” Kady crossed her arms and leaned back, testing him with a raised brow. 

He nodded. “Is that not more logical than me sporadically growing a festive heart?” 

“True,” Julia agreed with a smile, the one that seemed to make Penny go a little softer. Julia might just have that effect on anyone, Quentin thought. “So shots?”

“One day you two will drink here and actually pay for your alcohol,” he told them before slipping back behind the bar. The three of them made their way over to the ledge, squeezing in the available space next to each other. Penny poured four shots and put three in front of them, keeping the other within his own reach. “Six dollars for Quentin. Nothing for you two.” 

“Penny, will you ever  _ not  _ hate me?” Quentin asked. 

Penny eyed him. “You were named a Forbes 30 under 30, Coldwater. You can afford a shot.” 

“That’s… fair.” Quentin took the shot into his hand and waited with it in the air between them, though Penny eventually tapped his own against the glass with an eye roll. The four of them downed them in one go. “You participating in Christmas Cupid, Penny?”

“Don’t talk to me. People will think we’re friends.” His eyes didn’t bother looking up from the work he was doing, and Kady snorted beside him. “Of course not, though. My life hasn’t gotten that sad yet. No offense.” 

Julia flipped him off at the same time Quentin said, “Still offended.” 

Penny rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything else before he was sliding down the bar to help another customer. Quentin flipped around to lean his back against the bar and get a better look at the scene and try to see who was around. 

“There’s Alice,” Kady said with a tilt of her head. She tapped the counter before taking a step away. “I’ve gotta talk to her about cafe stuff.” 

She’d disappeared into the crowd before Quentin could say anything back, and when he turned to ask Julia if  _ she  _ thought something was weird about the way Kady had left he noticed her face wearing something akin to confusion. 

“Huh. Weird.” Her nose scrunched, lost in thought, before turning her gaze to Quentin. “You upset about that?” 

“Alice?” Quentin asked. He turned to watch her talk to Kady. She laughed, head thrown back, blonde hair flying over her shoulders. “Honestly?” Julia nodded. He cleared his throat. “I think I can say I’m officially over her. Honestly.” 

Julia clapped her hands before creeping closer and taking his arm in her own, pulling herself into his side. “I’m proud of you, Q. Also…” she trailed off as she bent forward to look past him. “Don’t look now, but I think Eliot Waugh would be pretty happy to hear that, too.” 

Quentin had pretty much had zero chill since birth, so he barely waited a moment before looking past Julia to see Eliot at the bar next to Margo. He wasn’t looking over, but Quentin thought maybe his effort to talk to Margo was a little  _ too  _ concentrated. Or maybe Quentin was just super reading into everything. He couldn’t quite tell. 

“Let’s go over and chat.” 

Before Quentin could get a word in Julia was tugging his arm over down the bar. He was about to argue, but then they were in front of the other two and there was no point. 

“Quentin. Julia,” Eliot welcomed. He held his hands out to the side. “What did we do to deserve your presence?” 

“It’s the season of giving, isn’t it?” Julia quipped. She stepped away from Quentin to join Margo’s side. “Another shot?” she asked. 

Margo smirked. “You barely say hello before trying to get me plastered. I don’t know if I should be offended or admire the enthusiasm.” 

Julia shrugged. “I’d go with the latter, but I’d never try to tell you what to do.” 

“Smart girl.” Margo turned back toward the bar, and Julia crept closer to do the same. 

Quentin was forced to turn away and back to Eliot, who he had last seen after leaving quickly at the antique shop. He hadn’t been able to forget the sting of rejection Eliot had once made him feel, and understand how easy it would be for Quentin to feel it again. 

But there was also his Christmas Cupid pen pal who had been making his heart race as of late, the way they seemed to get each other more and more with each letter. There was the possibility it could be Eliot, Quentin supposed. Yet what if it was someone like Alice? A person he’d just admitted to being over. 

The future was dangerous and ripe in front of him. 

“Hi,” Eliot said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Your mom’s gift is ready to be picked up, by the way.” 

“Oh yeah. I’ve been meaning to stop. The last two days have just been…” He didn’t actually have much of an excuse, so he settled for shrugging with the knowledge that Eliot wouldn’t test him on it. 

Eliot took a deep breath, so deep it was audible. “I’m sorry if I said something the other night. I feel like you left in a little bit of a rush.” 

“No, you didn’t,” Quentin was quick to answer.  _ At least not that night.  _ “I just… had stuff.” He winced. He was such an idiot. 

“Yo,” Margo said. Quentin had never been more grateful for Margo Hanson in his life. She pointed up above him with a devious expression. “Mistletoe.” 

Scratch that. He hated Margo Hanson with his entire being. 

“Oh shit,” Julia said. “You can’t just disrespect the Christmas culture.” 

“We’re not going to…” Quentin trailed off, pointing up at the mistletoe then back at Eliot. He didn’t want to look at him and see that same look of disappointment after they’d kissed. 

“What. You afraid to kiss me, Coldwater? Think you might not be able to fall out of love?” 

Quentin braved the distance to finally look at him, and he could have sworn there was an edge of vulnerability in Eliot’s expression.  _ No because I’m already falling into something that's been sleeping dormant since high school, and I have no idea what to do with it.  _ He didn’t want to be rejected, especially not in a bar that contained most of the people he cared about in this world all trapped inside, but Eliot had teased him, put the ball in his corner.  _ Fuck it,  _ Quentin thought. 

And then he placed one hand on Eliot’s cheek and kissed him before he could take it back. 

Eliot slipped easily into the kiss after he got over his initial burst of shock, evident in his frozen lips, but Eliot was a generous kisser. He held Quentin right back, gave as well as he got. He didn’t overstep, but Quentin could tell that Eliot knew what the hell he was doing. That he liked to make people feel good, and… god, Quentin needed to not let his mind stray on  _ that  _ thought much longer. 

Quentin pulled back, and Eliot smiled at him so softly he could have sworn his breath caught. He’d imagined someone looking at him with such tenderness too many times to count, and here it was coming from Eliot like it was nothing. 

“Look at you being all brave,” Eliot said as he took a step back. 

His brain snapped, synapses thinking about his letters. Could Eliot possibly be his Christmas Cupid? Could Quentin possibly be that lucky? 

“I’ve been trying,” Quentin answered, honestly.

“That was hot,” Margo interrupted before passing them both another shot. Quentin found it hard to look away from Eliot, but he could manage it as Margo shoved the glass into his hand. “Now drink.” 

The next hour went in a blur—drinking and laughter, the four of them simply existing and having a good time. At some point Kady came back, face a little flushed, but happily took the fresh drink Margo handed over to her. Julia was able to finagle the aux cord for the speakers from Penny, and once she was playing her own playlist over the speakers the rest of them went to dance. 

Quentin was feeling lightheaded and too warm watching all of them so…  _ happy.  _ They were happy, and he didn’t know exactly why that was what was sending him over the edge after everything that had transpired, but it was. He had that odd feeling that used to be so familiar to him and lately had been harder to come around (but still there, he’d never kicked it) of being out of his body, far removed from all this action though he knew, logically, he should be part of it. 

He gave up on watching, starting to feel odd and creepy, and went outside to bum a cigarette. He was thankful for the old townies who happily handed one over. It wasn’t until he was about halfway through the cigarette, smoking it quicker than usual in a desire to feel that added rush on top of the alcohol pounding through him, that Eliot appeared. 

“You should have invited me on your smoke break, Q.” He pulled out his pack and tapped it against his palm before pulling one out and popping it right into his mouth. His eyes didn’t leave Quentin as he lit it, a practiced movement. Eliot kicked his shin lightly. “What’s up?” 

“You know.” He shrugged, unable to face the enormity of the question. “Just needed some fresh air.” 

Eliot snorted. “I can see that.” He tilted his head toward the cigarette before turning and leaning his back against the wall. “If this is about our kiss and your gay panic, then I can assure you you have nothing to worry about.” 

Nothing to worry about? Quentin’s hands stilled on the cigarette. Why? Because Eliot had no interest? Or because Quentin wasn’t really gay? Quentin hated the way Eliot tried to speak for him as if he could know his own mind, as if he possibly knew what Quentin felt now and had felt back then, either. 

Usually, faced with the possibility of confrontation, Quentin erred on the side of caution. He might give a noncommittal shrug or change the subject, but the way Eliot had said those words shot straight through his chest. It was knowing that Quentin was actually pretty certain given the shot they could  _ work,  _ and it seemed Eliot thought it was nothing more than a joke. Quentin already thought of himself as that more than enough; he didn’t need someone else reminding him. 

“Why is the thought of me being comfortable in my own sexuality so hard for you to understand? And the idea of me wanting anything more so ridiculous?” He tried to pose the questions as soundly as he could, watching the shock then manufactured nonchalance wash over Eliot’s face in two near concurrent waves. “I think you’ve never taken me seriously and that's the problem.” 

“Quentin…” Eliot trailed off. “That’s not it at all.” 

“I don’t know. That's the way it seems to me. You did it to me in high school, you’re doing it to me now, and why am I even trying. I mean… I have a successful business I need to save from crashing into the ground, but here I am worrying about how  _ you  _ perceive me.” He ran a hand through his hair and brought the cigarette back to his lips. It was nearing the end and the last small bud of it fell from his hands. “Fuck.” 

“You’re just distracting yourself, Q. I’ve always been a good distraction.” Eliot didn’t even look  _ sorry  _ about saying that. 

He looked… defeated. He looked like it was as simple a truth as that. He looked beautiful, but he always looked that way. Quentin simply needed to learn how to move past that, since Eliot would never be able to take him as a serious contender no matter what he did or said. Quentin was too old to deal with being told who he was. 

“Maybe I’m wrong.” He paused, the realization rushing over him. “It’s not me you’re not taking seriously. It’s yourself.” 

“Oh, fuck off, Quentin.” Eliot’s voice grew an edge. Quentin could see a flash of fire in his eyes, one more word in the wrong direction and the explosion erupting. “Go back to your stupid app then go back to the cold city, like we all know you’re going to do when the holiday is over, and stop disrupting shit you aren’t actually going to deal with.” 

“Fuck you, Eliot.” Quentin threw the hood of his jacket up and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Really, dude, just… fuck you.” 

As far as storm outs went, it wasn’t the most eloquent, but Quentin didn’t exactly need eloquence. He just needed a quick retreat, and that he could get as he turned and walked down Main Street away from a boy he’d hoped for so much more from. 

* * *

Quentin spent the rest of the week locked in Julia and Kady’s apartment, trying to make edits on his app that were working with various success. He mostly knew it was getting pathetic because his  _ mother  _ had reached out, which probably spoke to something quite tragic about the situation. She’d pretty much been as observant as a rock for the majority of his life. 

“Come on, Q. What the hell is this about?” Julia flung herself onto the couch next to him. 

He knew he’d seen better days—he had been wearing the same pair of sweats for probably three days now, and his hair was collecting grease. Next to him, Julia smelled floral and looked as fresh as a breeze. 

Kady came and plopped herself down between them as if she didn’t notice the gross gremlin one of her best friends had turned into. 

“Really, though. This is getting tragic. We’re staging an intervention.” 

“Nothing is wrong. I’m just focusing on my app,” Quentin said, turning back toward the code that made little to no sense to him at this point. He didn’t even know what he’d been coming in to change in the first place. 

“You always do this.” Kady sighed and grabbed his laptop out of his lap before placing it carefully on the coffee table in front of them. 

“Do what?” He sighed as an exhaustion from this conversation—and, quite truthfully, from all of it: this town, Eliot, his job—washed over him. 

“You’re diverting so you don’t have to deal with it. That's why you haven’t come home in years,” Julia said. She was curled on the edge of the couch with the mug in her hands, bringing it up for a sip before setting it on the table as well and diverting her attention. 

“I haven’t come home because my mother hates me and my father is dead.” The words felt harsh from his lips, slicing their way out. He winced, but luckily neither Kady or Julia seemed deterred due to them. They were true, but they weren’t the whole truth. “Eliot Waugh kissed me under the mistletoe then told me off for having a gay panic I wasn’t having.”

Kady sighed and brought a hand to the bridge of her nose. “You two.” 

Julia patted her thigh and leaned closer over him. “You’re both being ridiculous.” 

“I didn’t start shit! I was the one who tried to date him, and he didn’t want anything to do with me.” 

“You didn’t start shit,” Kady agreed. “You’re right. But you two need to have an actual conversation instead of just… assuming you know what’s happening in each other’s heads. I think he’s probably just scared. You’re a lot to lose Quentin, you know that right?” 

Julia nodded. “I mean, we’ve felt kinda like we’re losing you for years.” 

Quentin gulped. “You have?” 

“You haven’t wanted to come home, you have to be coerced to interact sometimes… We know it’s hard, Quentin, and we don’t fault you for it, but we love you. You know that?” 

“Of course.” That had never once been in question for him. “You’re the people I care about most in the world.” 

Kady reached out a hand and placed it on his thigh, squeezing, and he reached out to take it in his own. “Then you should let us see you more.” 

“And not be afraid to talk to us. We’re on your side.” 

“Even if it’s sometimes the ridiculous side,” Kady added. 

Julia huffed out a laugh. “Don’t let Eliot Waugh ruin your Christmas or your app. And stop fucking sending us to voicemail. We don’t deserve that shit.” 

The back of Quentin’s eyes felt dry in the way he knew meant suddenly they would be overcompensating and tears would spill. “I’m so sorry. I’ll do better. I love you guys so much.” 

“We know.” Kady leaned into his side, and Julia crawled over her to clasp them all together in a strange amalgamation of limbs. 

“The app is going to be fine, Quentin. You knew what you wanted to do with it forever but just been afraid to do it.” Julia pulled them all in tighter, so that Quentin couldn’t see her face but he could feel her heartbeat. “Coincidentally it’s always been the same with Eliot.” 

They tangled apart, and Kady laughed but paused to hand him a tissue when she noticed the tears that had leaked. 

“Your last stuipd Christmas Cupid letter is on the counter, by the way,” she told him before turning away. “Maybe it’ll have some answers for you. Good or bad, best to know, right?” 

Quentin couldn’t fault that logic. 

* * *

_ Dear Chatwin,  _

_ I have to be honest in that I’ve had my suspicions about who you might be for a while, but I haven’t said anything. I guess, if we’re continuing with the honesty (which is how we’ve been since that very first letter when you opened a door to it, acting like it was the easiest thing in the world), I’ve always been afraid of rejection.  _

_ So I simply reject first. I have never given anyone the opportunity to turn me away before I’ve judged them, assumed I know exactly what they’re thinking, reject  _ ** _them. _ ** _ I’m not proud of it, and I like to think I’ve gotten a lot better as I’ve matured the last few years.... But when I think it really matters, when something starts to feel big… then it becomes scary again. I panic. I freeze up. I become a less than desirable person that I’m not necessarily proud of.  _

_ But I wasn’t being dramatic when I told you in my last letter about how you make me want to be brave. I like how you make me feel. I like how I don’t feel as if I have to hide anything with you, that we’ve opened up instead of hiding (man am I tired of hiding).  _

_ Which gets me here, to this. If you’re the person I think you might be, then I’m sorry I turned you away (twice). I was just afraid to see something real, and I didn’t want to get hurt. But I’d rather be hurt by someone as worth it as you then never try at all.  _

_ I can’t wait to meet you at the Christmas Cupid dance. I hope you prove better at forgiving and forgetting than I sometimes have, and I hope you know that whatever decision you make… you’ve changed me. You really have.  _

_ Love,  _

_ Swayze _

_ P.S. Please note how intense it is for you to have changed me for the better. I was already fucking amazing to start out with. Probably says something good about you, I guess.  _

* * *

Quentin needed to remember how good a simple shower could make him feel in the most dire of situations. He’d read the letter a number of times, edging up and into the double digits with relative ease. 

If he’d made Swayze feel brave, Swayze who he was  _ pretty  _ sure had to be Eliot, then he had to put his money where his mouth was. He couldn’t hide behind his excuses anymore, and he couldn’t run. So he cleaned himself off and attempted to get himself ready. The steam had done amazing things to clear his head. 

His hands jittered over the buttons to his shirt (damn that last cup of coffee, he should have known he was overdoing it), when Kady appeared in the doorway. 

“Let me help,” she said. She was in a dark pair of pants and a satin shirt, hair joused and a sheen of maroon lipstick dotted on her lips. Despite not participating in Christmas Cupid for obvious reasons, she was still coming to the party tonight, and she looked  _ good.  _

Kady stepped in front of Quentin and lightly slapped his hands away, doing it up quickly and patting his shoulder when she was finished. She stepped back and turned toward the mirror so the both of them could get a good look. 

“Thanks, Kady.” He took a sounding breath. “This is going to be okay, right?” 

“Of course it is.” She nodded again, but she looked like she needed to reassure herself just as equally. “I need to talk to you about something.” 

He tried not to let his heart rate race at those words. “Go for it.” 

“I don’t want to step on your toes, and I’ve been lying to you a little because I didn't want to like… scare you off again and be the reason you never came home, but I like Alice. Like, her and I have kinda been dating, but I haven’t known how to bring it up to you, and I don’t want to ruin our friendship over it but I  _ really  _ like her. It’s real deal for me.” 

“Oh.” Quentin shuffled through all the memories since he’d arrived home, and the pieces clicked into place. The awkward tension of them in the same room. The way Kady had been shy about talking about her dating. “Kady.” 

She’d taken to biting at her cuticle and looking at herself in the mirror, seemingly too afraid to meet Quentin’s gaze. 

“Kady,” he repeated. She looked at him. “I’m happy for you.” 

“Really?” she asked. 

Quentin nodded. “Yes. Obviously. I love Alice, but I’m never going to be in love with her again. We’re not good for each other, not the way I bet you two are. Be happy. Be loud about it. Because  _ I’m  _ happy for you both.” 

Kady took him into a hug, tugging him closely to her chest and holding him there. It took him by surprise, but then he melted into it. 

“I love you,” he said. 

“I love you, too.” Kady rested her cheek on his shoulder. “I’m so glad you finally came home.” 

It was strange, but Quentin was pretty sure she wasn’t talking about this town, but her and Julia. The comfort of them, the comfort and love of their friendship. 

Quentin smiled. “Me too.” 

* * *

The three of them rolled into the Christmas Cupid dance in a straight line, and it felt the same way they had arrived to a million parties before. It had always made Quentin feel powerful to be flanked by his best friends, all three of them taking the scene on. 

“I’m going to go find Alice,” Kady said. 

Julia whistled, and Kady shot her the middle finger without turning around. Quentin laughed, feeling the brief joy cover him before the nerves started to rage back into play. Before he could utter a word, turning toward Julia, she had already pushed him forward. 

“Go get ‘em, champ.” 

Quentin went to do just that, but he wandered the space of the community center to no luck. Eliot wasn’t by the drinks (though Margo was, who had been joined already by Julia as they chatted through smirks and over alcohol—something was  _ definitely  _ going on there). 

Finally, in what was either a flash of brilliance or desperation, he decided to go outside and see if Eliot was loitering. There, Quentin found him leaning against a railing and surveying the parking lot like it was a scenic landscape instead of filled with cars that had seen better days dusted in snow and ice. 

“Hi,” Quentin said. He should have prepared something more because when Eliot looked up at him he seemed to lose his breath. His hand clasped around the letter in his pocket, and the feeling of the paper in his hand unbolted the momentary lock of his jaw. “I got my last letter. And the thing is, I’m pretty sure it’s you. And maybe it isn’t? But I don’t know if I care because I  _ want  _ it to be you more than anyone else.”

“I—”

“Please don’t tell me I’m going through a gay panic like I haven’t known I was bisexual since high school, and don’t tell  _ me  _ why it won’t work because I want to try. Whatever that means for you. I want to try because you’re kinda incredible even if you do jump to conclusions, even if you think you’re scared. You’re one of the most courageous people I know, so I hope you can be courageous with me.” 

Eliot’s mouth opened then closed. Quentin finally released a breath. The air was cold but not freezing, not blowing in the slightest as if to say  _ we don’t want to interrupt this.  _

“So,” Quentin said, flinging his arms to the side. “That’s all I got. Now it’s your turn to speak.” 

“I’ve never been very good at words, Q,” Eliot said. He took a step forward, and his hand reached into his pocket to pull out a letter. “Chatwin, really?”

Quentin laughed. He wasn’t sure which one of them broke the distance first because the next thing he knew they were kissing. Eliot’s hands had gone to his cheeks, and Quentin was tugging him closer by the waist. He tasted of peppermint schnapps and hot chocolate. Christmas had never tasted so good. 

“I want to fucking do this,” Eliot said as he pulled back, though just barely. His forehead was still resting on Quentin’s, and he bent forward to peck another brief kiss on his lips. “I want to try.” 

“Then let’s fucking do it.” Quentin shrugged. He was aware his smile was so wide it was hurting his cheeks, but he couldn’t help it and he certainly didn’t care. He was  _ happy.  _ So absolutely, blindingly happy. 

“But…” Eliot began, motioning to the community center behind him. “Can we not do it in there? It’s pretty lame, and frankly I’m hungry.” 

“Then let’s start by getting something to eat.” Quentin reached out and interlaced their fingers. “Should we maybe ask our friends if they want to join us first, though?” 

Eliot smiled and nodded. “Sure. That is if we can pull apart Julia and Margo who are surely in a broom closet banging somewhere already.” 

“So that  _ is  _ a thing,” Quentin exclaimed. 

“Oh yeah. They’re very vocal in our apartment.” 

Quentin winced. “Ew. I didn’t want to know that.” 

Eliot bent forward and kissed him again. When he pulled back he tugged his arm to follow him inside. “What’s mine is yours now, baby. Let’s share the trauma.” 

Maybe Quentin was that crazy, or just really into Eliot, but even that didn’t sound half bad.

* * *

Alice appeared by Quentin’s side, holding her hands together in front of her red circle skirt as they walked down the road toward wherever Eliot and Margo were leading them. 

“We’re good, right?” she asked. She motioned to Kady before motioning between the two of them. “I’d rather you not disappear on my girlfriend again. Or me, actually.” 

He wrapped an arm around her neck and gave a squeeze before stepping back. “We’re good, Alice.” He caught Eliot’s eye, gave him a smile that he knew must be smitten by the way he winked right back. “I’d wager we might be great.” 

* * *

Quentin used to love Christmas—unashamedly, wholeheartedly loved Christmas. Quentin used to love  _ love _ , too. And then life got hard and weird, and he’d never quite learned how to deal with the new and strange way it all worked around him. He’d felt tired. He’d felt uninspired. 

Honestly, he’d felt less than whole, and instead of remembering how he’d felt filled up in the first place he spent a long time trying to learn how to be half himself. 

Now, looking around at all of them stuffed into a corner booth at the semi-shitty but incredibly reasonably priced diner in town, he loved Christmas and he loved  _ love.  _ The love he felt for Kady and Julia sitting between Margo and Alice on the other side of the booth—a full, all-encompassing sort of friendship that had weathered him through the worst and best of it all. His love for Alice, someone who had been there too and briefly felt far away just to circle around, help him remember what it had been like in the first place. 

Margo—new, budding, but genuine. And Eliot beside him, of course, also new but… god, he hated to sound cheesy but there was something undeniable about Eliot. Like Quentin had looked at him and he’d felt a surety.  _ It could have always been you, and now it is.  _

Eliot’s hair fell in his eyeline, and he tossed it back as he bent forward to take another bite of waffle onto his fork. He caught Quentin’s eyes and shot him a slow, creeping smile. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Coldwater?” He tilted his head, mouthful of waffle hanging from his fork still, and the smile kept growing. 

Quentin felt warm. He felt fucking…. _h_ _ appy.  _ Like the world wasn’t perfect but it made more  _ sense  _ to him, somehow, and how lucky he was to have all these people in his life. 

He shrugged. “Just happy,” he said, and the way Eliot smiled brighter at that… it made Quentin’s whole chest shine bright. 

“Me too.” He bumped his shoulder into him. “Eat your waffles. Well, actually, first—” Eliot set down his fork and took Quentin’s cheeks under his palms. He kissed him soft, sound, reassured. Alice cleared her throat across the table and Julia laughed. Margo whistled and cracked a crude joke that left Kady snorting, though Quentin couldn’t quite make it out. 

Quentin used to  _ love  _ love, and it turned out it might just love him right back. And this year just in time for Christmas. 

**Author's Note:**

> join me on tumblr because [insert a good reason here]: [anniebibananie](http://anniebibananie.tumblr.com/)


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